Istanbul Passage

by Joseph Kanon

  “Here, hold this,” he said, but Alexei didn’t reach for it, safe where he was, and Leon saw that his arm was bloody, stanched only a little by the cold water and now starting again to leak through his matted sleeve.

  He thought for a moment of putting the ring over Alexei’s head, but he’d never manage to work his arms through, not the bleeding one, so he just hung on, keeping Alexei’s head up against him.

  “They’re coming?” Alexei said.

  “Yes.”

  “So we didn’t make it.”

  “We’re alive.”

  “For the Russians,” Alexei said, his voice low.

  “Hang on!” Mihai yelled through the megaphone. Around him, people were looking down through the light rain.

  Leon’s arm began to cramp on the lifesaver, feeling the cold. Think what to say to Gülün.

  A minute later, he could hear the boat coming around the bow, another light shining toward them. Alexei turned his head.

  “They’re coming,” he said.

  “Just hold on,” Leon said, missing his tone.

  “Let me go.” And then, before Leon could react, he twisted his head free of Leon’s hand and dropped away, pushing against Leon’s chest.

  Leon stared for a second at the water, the empty space where Alexei had been, before he realized what had happened.

  “No,” he said, as if they were having a conversation, then “no” again, this time to himself.

  He ducked under. The lights, so bright above the surface, stopped after a few inches, everything black. But he couldn’t have gone far, a few feet. Leon dived down, then started back up where Alexei had gone under, reaching for anything, hands stretched out, water running through his fingers. He broke the surface, gulping. Nothing.

  “Leon!” Mihai shouting from above.

  He dived again, deeper this time, hearing a motor now, the boat closer. He moved his arms, sweeping across the space in front of him. Water. Then a piece of something, cloth, not seaweed. He snatched at it, using it to pull himself closer, then brought up his other hand, more cloth, a jacket, holding it now with both hands, kicking, pushing them up. When they hit the air, Alexei started coughing, too weak now to fight back when Leon grabbed his collar from behind. The boat light swept in an arc, followed by a sudden shot, Leon not sure whether to duck again, a helpless target.

  “Stay where you are,” a loudspeaker said in Turkish, evidently a warning shot, fired when they disappeared. More yelling from the deck.

  “Let me go,” Alexei said, barely audible.

  “Hang on. I’ve got you,” Leon said, ignoring this, holding him up.

  Alexei stared at him, eyes suddenly wide, undefended, taking him in as if Leon were the last thing he would ever see. “Why?”

  “Almost there,” Leon said, reaching for the lifesaver.

  Alexei coughed, choking on some water. “I’m tired.”

  “Almost there,” Leon said again.

  “No, tired. It’s enough.”

  Leon glanced over. Alexei’s head had begun to loll. How much blood had he lost?

  “Not yet,” he said, “I need you,” Alexei looking up at this.

  A rope hit the water near them, more lights.

  “Grab hold!”

  Leon looked at it, winded, still holding Alexei. A second to get his strength back.

  “Move!” Another shot fired into the air, like a whip cracking, then sharp cries from the ship, oddly like dogs.

  “Tell him to go to hell,” Alexei said, barely lifting his head.

  “You can’t stay in the water. We’ll freeze.”

  “I don’t feel it.”

  “That’s worse. You should.”

  “Yes?” Alexei said, looking up. “Ah.”

  He took Leon’s hand, smiling faintly, an awkward clutching, not a shake, not expecting to be towed by it, just making contact. Leon looked back, surprised, a camera shutter opening, seeing him now, the kid in the street, just a glimpse before he could run away again.

  “All right,” Alexei said, nodding, his eyes going to the boat. “It’s your move.” His voice faint, running out of air, part of the quiet that was filling Leon’s head, the clock finally stopping, at an end.

  Gülün’s boat was rocking nearby, the motor still churning, policemen shouting and pointing to the rope, all distant noises, background sounds where the ticking had been. There was no next move, just an automatic reach for the lifesaver, then a hook to drag them in, check. And the Victorei in Gülün’s hands, all the anxious people on deck pawns again. His idea, somewhere they’d never look.

  “Take the rope!”

  Leon saw it floating on the surface, a lifeline, a noose. Your move.

  The boat ran its siren again, a screaming alarm, loud enough to fill the quiet in Leon’s head, a rush of prickly feeling in his numb hands. No, not the siren, a different horn, behind them, a new light flashing over the water. Leon glanced around, trying to make out the shape past the blinding light. Smaller than the police boat, gunwales of polished wood, the kind of boat you saw tied up in front of a yali, fast just for the pleasure of it. Bearing down on them now with another siren whoop. A shot was fired from the police boat, presumably into the air, like a sentry. A loudspeaker crackled.

  “Hold your fire! Idiot!”

  The speedboat on them now, fishtailing to idle next to Gülün’s, like a skier at the end of a run.

  “Are you crazy? Shooting at me?” Altan, furious.

  There was an exchange Leon couldn’t hear over the sputtering engines, then another ring thrown to him, this one from the speedboat. More yelling between the boats, Altan taking over. In the lights, Leon could see Gülün’s face, flustered and petulant.

  “And them?” he said, jerking a thumb back to the Victorei.

  “Let them go,” Leon said, close to the side now. “They didn’t—”

  “You, my friend, are in no position to ask for anything,” Altan said. “Hold on to that. Get them into the boat,” he said to someone on board.

  “No,” Alexei said suddenly. “When we see the ship leave.”

  Altan blinked, stopped by this. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll freeze.”

  “Then hurry,” Alexei said, eyes level, as if Altan were the fisherman, someone else to stare down. He turned to Leon. “It’s what you want, yes?”

  Leon nodded.

  “So.”

  Altan, annoyed, yelled across to Gülün, then turned back to them. “He says his men are already off the boat. Get in.”

  “Then signal it to leave. You came for me? So there’s the price. Or I take this one with me.” Fierce, no indication at all that it was Leon supporting him, a bluff as smooth as a swimmer’s stroke.

  Altan stood still for a second, stymied.

  “They don’t pay for me,” Alexei said, jaw clenched against the cold. “Signal.”

  Altan turned toward Gülün’s boat. Another exchange, argumentative, then a bark in Altan’s voice, giving orders, Gülün’s shoulders rearing back then sagging. Leon felt the water lapping at his chin, waiting, feet no longer there, just part of the cold. A series of lights flashed up to the Victorei, followed by a policeman shouting into the loudspeaker. A second’s lag for the translation, then a roar of voices from the ship, the sound of a goal scored. Leon saw people slapping Mihai on the back as he stood frowning, staring down at Leon, not sure what to do. Leon lifted his hand a little and waved him off. There was a shuddering grind in the engines as the boat started up again. More cheers. Now Mihai waved back, barely raising his hand, still troubled, leaving someone behind.

  “Get in,” Altan said, nodding to the rope.

  “When it leaves,” Alexei said, still making his improbable bargain.

  The ship had begun to slide away, its wake lifting the smaller boats.

  He turned to Leon. “It’s all right?”

  Leon looked at him, a wordless thank-you, more, trying to see behind his eyes again.

  “Always something for the
Jews with you,” Alexei said, trying to be wry, closing the shutter, but his voice trailed off, his eyes drooping.

  Leon shook him, wetting Alexei’s face to see the eyes open again, someone trying to nap, then paddled with one arm to Altan’s life preserver. A long pole with a hook snagged the ring and started pulling them. Then there were hands lifting them up, Alexei not letting go of Leon until he was pried away, both of them wrapped in blankets. It was only then, with the first hint of warmth, that Leon started shivering.

  “He’s bleeding. They shot him.”

  “I can see that,” Altan said, motioning for one of his men to look at the wound. He shouted something to Gülün who then ordered the police boat to pull away. “He’s disappointed,” Altan said to Leon. “Such good work too.” Gülün, sullen, was saluting.

  Behind the police boat, the Victorei was becoming a string of lights on the Marmara. Tommy’s money and the butcher’s price, whatever it took. Leon pulled the blanket tighter.

  “He’s out,” one of Altan’s men said, holding Alexei.

  “He lost a lot of blood,” Leon said.

  “So did Enver,” Altan said smoothly, looking at him. He turned to the driver. “Let’s get going.”

  The boat recoiled, a shotgun effect, as the engine kicked in, throwing everyone against the sides. It swung around, heading back for the Bosphorus. Polished wood, a rich man’s boat.

  “What are you doing here?” Leon said, his head getting fuzzy. “Gülün—”

  “You prefer his boat?”

  “He works for you.”

  Altan shrugged. “In a way. But he doesn’t always know what to do.”

  “No?” Leon said, making a sound, too tired to talk, then noticed the driver, a familiar face above a serving tray. “Lily’s boat,” he said finally.

  “A courtesy.”

  “Gülün found us.”

  “No, I told him. A good idea, by the way. Clever. A ship of Jews.”

  “I bribed them. They had nothing to do—” Leon started, but Altan waved this off.

  “How far were you going?”

  “Cyprus,” Leon said, voice flat.

  Altan tilted his head slightly, calculating, then nodded. “I never thought of that,” he said, an appreciation.

  “But you knew about the ship,” Leon said slowly, trying to think, what mattered.

  “Not until the end.”

  “How?” Leon said dully. “How did you—?” Wanting to know, then dreading it.

  “The fisherman,” Altan said. “I paid him. More.”

  A second to react, then Leon started to smile. An Istanbul answer, not Kay, not Mihai, complicated betrayals, just a market price.

  “He’s still out,” the man with Alexei said.

  “Radio ahead to have a doctor at Lily’s.”

  “We’re going to Lily’s?” Leon said, confused.

  “Would you rather the police?”

  “Why Lily’s?”

  “So we can talk.”

  “Talk,” Leon said, his voice distant.

  “Make plans.”

  Leon tried to get hold of this, then let it go. “What you said before, about Enver. He was—?”

  “I hope that wasn’t you. He had a family.”

  Leon said nothing.

  “No, it would have to be him,” Altan said, looking at Alexei, slumped under his blanket. “Don’t forget what kind of man he is.”

  Leon looked up, not understanding.

  “Then it’s easier.”

  “What?”

  “What the Americans want.”

  “The Americans,” Leon repeated, his mind wispy, fogging up, like the faint drizzle around them.

  Altan nodded.

  “Oh,” Leon said, with a faint snort. “You’re working for us now.”

  “I work for Turkey,” Altan said, his voice quick, some nerve touched. “Only Turkey.” He relaxed his shoulders. “But right now I’m in a position to—offer a favor. To friends.”

  “What favor?” Shuddering again, the wind colder.

  Altan opened his hand toward Alexei.

  “You’re giving him to us?”

  Altan caught Leon’s expression. “I know. So much work. So clever. You surprised me. But it’s just as well,” he said, his hand now taking in the absent Victorei, the night. “The Americans don’t want him in Cyprus. They want him in Istanbul.”

  Leon tried to follow, a riddle he couldn’t solve now, but drifted into the pocket of warmth under the blanket, the boat thudding against the waves, making spray, not resisting the pull anymore, going under.

  7

  GALATA BRIDGE

  HE AWOKE WITH SUN in his face, the soft rustling of slippers in the hall, quiet as brushstrokes. Anna’s room, some other hospital. But the comforter over him was satin and the light against the far wall glowed in colors, streaming through bits of stained glass. Lily’s, one of the rooms in the old selamlik, the smell of coffee brewing. A shape near the door moved, becoming a woman.

  “I’ll tell Madame,” she said, out the door before Leon could answer.

  He sat up, the comforter sliding off his bare skin, so that he had to catch it, hold it to his chest. He noticed a brazier in the corner, bright with coals. He moved his toes, a test, recovered from the icy water.

  “I thought you’d sleep longer,” Lily said, followed by a woman carrying a pile of clothes. “All dry. Such a time getting off the wet ones. How do you feel?”

  “Where’s Alexei?”

  “The Romanian? Eating breakfast. Well, lunch, this hour. Already making eyes at Ayşe and last night he was half dead. Men, c’est incroyable.”

  “Why here?”

  “I help Murat sometimes.” She looked up at him. “So now that’s our secret, yes?” She nodded to the maid to put the clothes on the bed. “I’ll let you dress. We’re in the garden room.” She started to go, then turned, smiling to herself. “So now I know.”

  “What?”

  “What you’d look like in the morning. I always wondered. Your hair, the way it sticks out. Un petit garçon. Adorable.”

  “I don’t feel adorable.”

  “Ouf,” she said, waving her hand, then dropped it, all business. “Hurry. Murat’s waiting.”

  But only Alexei was at the table, his face bland and cheerful, as if waking up in luxury was simply part of the natural order of things, the next turn of the wheel.

  “What is this place?” he said, motioning to the maid to bring more coffee.

  “A friend.”

  “Friends like this in Istanbul. Imagine what America must be like.” Almost winking, enjoying himself. He looked at Leon. “You’re all right?”

  “What time is it?”

  Alexei looked up at the sky, a peasant’s clock. “Almost noon.”

  “They patched you up?” Leon said, nodding to the bandage on Alexei’s arm.

  Alexei nodded. “But no more tennis,” he said. Then when Leon didn’t react, “A joke.” A few hours earlier, dragging Leon into the water.

  “Ah, both of you. Good,” Altan said, coming in.

  Alexei stiffened, wary.

  “Everyone feeling better?” Altan said.

  “What are we doing here?” Alexei said.

  “Recovering. Staying out of sight. The police won’t bother you now, but let’s not tempt them.” He looked at Alexei. “You want to get to the Americans in one piece.”

  “And who’s taking me? You?”

  “No. Leon. That’s his job.”

  Alexei accepted this with a grunt. “When?”

  “As soon as they get here. Meanwhile, enjoy the day. It’s always good after a rain, isn’t it? Everything so clear.”

  An unintended irony, Leon’s head still muddled.

  “Get here from where?” he said. “The consulate?”

  “No, Ankara,” Altan said, not elaborating.

  “Then why the ship?” Alexei said, suspicious. “All the arrangements—”

  “Compromised,” Alt
an said. “Once we knew that, we had to get you off.”

  Leon stared at him, trying to make sense of this.

  “Compromised?” Alexei said.

  “A word to the police. Luckily, intercepted,” Altan said, almost breezy. “Someone, I think, didn’t like you very much.”

  No sense at all now.

  “But the ship got out,” Leon said, alarmed. “You didn’t have it stopped later.”

  “We made an agreement,” Altan said, indicating Alexei. He checked his wristwatch. “They should be there tonight.”

  “In Palestine,” Leon said, an odd sense of relief, at least one thing gone right.

  “More likely with the British Mediterranean Fleet. Back to Cyprus after all. But that’s not in our control, is it?” This to Alexei. “Now it’s up to them.”

  Alexei nodded, watching him.

  “I wonder if you would do something for me. While we’re waiting.”

  Alexei said nothing.

  “You knew Melnikov. A prominent figure here now. Very interested in Turkey. It would be so useful—a matter of dates. When you knew him. After Stalingrad, I know, but when exactly?”

  “Useful to whom?”

  “To Turkey.”

  “I’m not working for Turkey.”

  “No, the Americans. But we have an arrangement with the Americans.”

  “Then let them ask.”

  “They will. But maybe not so soon. A small matter to them. But something more to us. Nothing, I think, to you.” He paused. “A persuasive man, Melnikov. There was a Turk—well, born in Kars, a Turkish mother, you would think a source of loyalty, but a Russian father, so Russian during the war. When Melnikov persuaded him. To do some work. Against Turkey. We know what happened to him—Norilsk, not the reward he expected. But there was another man, and him—”

  “I don’t know.”

  “By name, no. If you did, an easy job for us. Just a name. But if we had the dates. We could match the dates. A matter of elimination. Where was Melnikov? When? Not so difficult. The Americans will ask anyway. So, an exercise for you. Since you’re here.”